


They Don't Make 'Em Like That Anymore

by Azzandra



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Community: falloutkinkmeme, F/M, Flirting, Multi, Pining, Polyamorous Character, Smooth Ghoul Sweeping Ladies Off Their Feet, Threesome - F/M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension, We Climbed This Entire Smut Mountain, We Did It Gang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-22 11:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6077070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzandra/pseuds/Azzandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A ghoulified Nick Valentine rolls into town to confront the synth using his name. And the Sole Survivor is caught between Nick and... Valentine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Lot of Explaining To Do

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fill for a kink meme prompt, and though it isn't quite complete yet, I'm going to start posting it here and editing it a bit.

The day started as deceptively normal, considering the turn it was going to take. It was sunny and pleasant. They had just wrapped up one of Nick's open cases the evening before, and made a couple of people very happy to be reunited.  
  
And Phil was sitting across from him, grinning as she leaned her elbows on his desk and propped her chin on her laced fingers.  
  
"You like my new hat?" she asked, tipping her head slightly to show off the yellow fedora. She'd obviously been shopping that morning, before she dropped by the agency.  
  
"It suits you," Nick replied.  
  
"You ever think about shaking up your wardrobe?" she asked. "I got a matching trenchcoat with the hat."  
  
"Yellow's not really my color," he replied.  
  
"A bit too wild for you?" Phil raised an eyebrow. "Alright, we can try something more conservative. Maybe a nice, colorful pop of _brown_ is more up your alley."  
  
"My wardrobe's fine," Nick replied, and counted out her share of the caps from helping him with the case. He slid the money towards her. "This should keep you in hats for a while longer, though. Come find me when you need funds for a nice scarf or something. I should have have another case lined up for you next time you're in Diamond City."  
  
"Actually, I'm going to be sticking around a bit," Phil replied, sliding the bundle of caps into one of her pockets.  
  
"Business or pleasure?" Nick asked.  
  
"Always pleasure when you're around, Nick," Phil replied, giving him a dazzling smile.  
  
Nick chuckled at her flirtation, but did not react to it otherwise.  
  
"I have some things to wrap up before I go home," she said, when he didn't rise to the bait. "Maybe I'll even get around to fixing up Home Plate a bit. I keep bumping my shin against crates."  
  
"I'll be seeing you around, then," Nick said.  
  
"You're welcome to do more than look," she said, giving him an exaggerated wink before leaving.  
  
Ellie turned around from the corner where she was filing to give Nick a pointed look.  
  
"One of these days, Nick," she said, "you're going to have to pick up what she's laying down for you."  
  
"It's just banter, Ellie. She doesn't mean anything by it."  
  
"That's the most backwards sort of wishful thinking I've ever heard from a person. I'm surprised you haven;t managed to logic bomb yourself by now."  
  
Nick shook his head, and quietly started to sort through his files for something new to work on. After spending those days on the road with Phil, just the two of them... he needed a distraction.  
  
He sighed and tried to find something up to the task.

* * *

 

If there was one problem with buying Home Plate, Phil thought, it was that she hadn't considered the fact that the Diamond City Market was right on her doorstep. Doorsteps. Both of them, really.  
  
If she'd given some thought to this, she would have realized that each time she lodged there, she would not be able to so much as walk back towards home without being distracted by--oh goodness, were those .308 rounds Arturo was selling? She definitely needed those for her favorite rifle. Maybe he'd also gotten some fusion cores in, too. And then she was once again sucked into browsing the entire market, as if she were not already familiar with all the wares.  
  
It was right before noon when Phil's tour of the market came to a halt. The smell of noodles was getting very distracting, and she realized this was because she was hungry. She used the last caps in her pocket to buy herself a bowl of noodles, and ate while planning a trip to Choice Chops later. She had to stock up on food now that she was actually staying at Home Plate, and a nice cooked meal was more appealing than noodles and junk food.  
  
She was so distracted by thoughts of the brahmin roast she was planning to make that she didn't notice someone sitting down next to her until he ordered a bowl of noodles for himself.  
  
It was still too early for the lunch rush, so most of the other stools were still open. Phil confirmed this as she looked around.  
  
And then she glanced aside; her new lunch companion was a ghoul, sharply dressed in a clean black suit, a slightly more worn fedora on his head. When he turned in his seat towards her, he gave her a smile that was more roguish than she expected.  
  
"Nice hat you've got there," he said, his head dipping slightly in a nod. It didn't sound like he was being facetious, either.  
  
Oh, this... was something. With a few exception, ghouls did not, in general, flirt with her. Something about her being too far on the smooth end of the smooth-skin spectrum made most of them think it was too much of a long shot.  
  
Not this guy, though, with his confident posture and self-assured smirk and deep rumbling voice.  
  
Phil stood up a bit straighter and crossed her legs.  
  
"Not so bad yourself," Phil replied. "So are you in Diamond City for the fashion?"  
  
He chuckled in response.  
  
"That obvious I'm not from around here?" he asked.  
  
"Well, until recently, they didn't exactly allow ghouls in," Phil said. "I think that policy's fallen by the wayside since the old mayor bit the dust, but I'd say it's still pretty brave of you to be walking through the door."  
  
"Funny thing about being a ghoul, that's actually true about more places than you'd think," he replied dryly.  
  
Phil was actually thrown for a loop, unsure how to reply.  
  
"Sorry," she said.  
  
"Nah, I'm the one who's sorry. Didn't mean to make things awkward." The ghoul extended his hand. "I didn't properly introduce myself, either. Valentine."  
  
Phil was surprised, briefly, but it wasn't like 'Valentine' was such an unusual or rare name to begin with.  
  
"Phil," she said in return, though he hadn't specified whether that was his first name or surname. She couldn't help but remark on it, though. "This is a weird coincidence, but did you know there's a detective in Diamond City named--"  
  
"Nick Valentine, yeah," the ghoul said, and a shadow passed over his face. "And trust me, someone's got a hell of a lot explaining to do."


	2. The Self-Loathing You Requested Has Been Outsourced

As it happened, multiple people had explaining to do.  
  
There was anger in the lines of the ghoul's body, and Phil recognized something in the set of his jaw. It was a very _Nick_ expression, now that she noticed. They were not physically similar, overall, but body language which had become intimately familiar to Phil was now echoed in this ghoul.  
  
But Nick--her Nick--wasn't angry. He was tense, certainly. He looked uncomfortable. But in the slump of his shoulders was resignation, as if this was a confrontation he'd been expecting for some time, and the outcome of which he had already anticipated.  
  
Phil didn't like that, but she couldn't do much about it at the moment. Her eyes slid from one man to the other, uncertain.  
  
"So where in all those forms I signed was _this_ part mentioned?" the ghoul asked, arms crossed as he looked Nick up and down.  
  
"Trust me, pal, this wasn't my idea of a good time, either," Nick muttered in return, but there was no venom to it.  
  
"I'm not your _pal_ ," the ghoul replied bluntly.  
  
"Hey," Phil interjected, not liking his tone one bit. The ghoul's eyes flicked to her, and a bit of the anger in him loosened, as if he remembered himself.  
  
"Sorry," he said to Phil, "but maybe you should let us work this out between us, and come back later. Shouldn't have involved you in the first place."  
  
"Oh, bullshit," Phil muttered darkly, before angling herself protectively next to Nick and placing a hand on his shoulder. "I was plenty involved when we were hunting down those damn holotapes and putting Eddie Winter down like a dog. A bit late to cut me loose _now_."  
  
This actually gave the ghoul pause, and his eyes widened in disbelief. Phil had given him the bare bones of Nick's story, but not that part. She'd thought maybe it was something they'd like to discuss themselves, privately, without an intermediary. Clearly the conversation needed some prodding in that direction, though.  
  
Nick seemed more embarrassed than anything by her support, though. He gently took her hand off his shoulder, lowering it and tucking it back at her side.  
  
"No, he's right. You should go. This is between him and me," Nick said.  
  
Phil gave one last pleading look to Nick, but he shook his head, cutting off any protest.  
  
"It's fine, go," he said more insistently. "You can drop in later."  
  
There was no arguing with it, even if she didn't think that was what Nick really wanted, or, for that matter, what he needed. But she walked to the door, slowly and dragging her feet in protest.  
  
"You too, Ellie," Nick said, and Phil could hear Ellie's sputtered protestations. It was clear she'd be putting up more of an argument, but the outcome would be the same. Nick needed to sort this out among... himself.

Phil lingered outside the door, under the neon sign. Ellie stormed past her soon after, muttering darkly about stubborn men, but what followed, mostly, was a long stretch of waiting.  
  
And wait she did, her ears straining to pick up anything from inside. She wasn't quite undignified enough to go press up against the door and try to eavesdrop on purpose, but occasionally voices rose enough that she could hear a stray word or two. She had no idea what they were discussing. There was no yelling, but Nick wasn't the type to get in shouting matches. He could be perfectly cutting at any volume.  
  
Finally, the wait came at an end as the door swung open and the ghoul walked out. Phil was startled by his abrupt exit, and even he stopped short when he noticed her, apparently surprised she was still there.  
  
He took off his hat, holding it to his chest.  
  
"I owe you an apology," he said. "I approached you with ulterior motives earlier today."  
  
"I can't blame you. Honestly, I'm kind of glad you came up to me first instead of going directly to Nick. Uh... the other Nick, I mean."  
  
"It's fine," he said, placing his hat back on his head. "I get what you mean. Nobody's been calling me Nick for a long time now. It's mostly just Valentine these days."  
  
"That's too bad," Phil said, before it occurred to her that it might have sounded rude.  
  
But Valentine quirked a smile at her, and his hands slipped into his pockets as he relaxed.  
  
"I'm not too broken up about it," he said, "but if you're offering to cheer me up, I wouldn't pass the offer. I'll be in Diamond City for a while."  
  
Phil actually felt her cheeks flush. She'd gotten so used to Nick's gentle rebuffs, that Valentine's flirting came as a surprise.  
  
"Me too," she said. "I mean, I'll be in Diamond City too. For a while."  
  
Valentine looked pleased by this.  
  
"Well, if you're up for it, drop by the Dugout Inn for a drink tonight," he said. "You'll find me propping up the bar."  
  
"Okay," Phil blurted out before she could think better of it.  
  
Then Valentine tipped his hat at her and left, looking very much like the cat that ate the canary. Phil watched him until he rounded the corner, asking herself what on earth she was thinking, accepting that invitation.  
  
No, at that moment she just needed to check on Nick. She'd deal with the rest of it later.

* * *

 

If he were human, his hands would be shaking right then, but his fingers were steady as the grave as Nick eased out a cigarette from the package.  
  
Not that he couldn't feel the turmoil on the inside. If it was circuitry and lines of code making him feel like utter crap at the moment, it didn't seem any different from how flesh and synapses used to manifest this same sort of misery in his stolen memories.  
  
"Nick?"  
  
He hadn't heard Phil enter, and with his back to the door, hadn't seen her either. But there she was, and he couldn't figure out why he was even surprised.  
  
"...Yeah?" he said, his voice even and controlled. He searched his pocket for his lighter.  
  
He heard her steps come close, until she was right next to him, where he could see her in his peripheral vision. Nick didn't move, remained facing his desk, and he brought the lighter up to his cigarette.  
  
His finger worked the button of the lighter, pressing down and slipping off it with a dull click. There were sparks, but no flame. His hand was steady, it wasn't shaking, but Nick couldn't figure out why this wasn't working. Click. Click. Click. No flame.  
  
It took him longer than it should have for him to realize that he was using his bad hand, and his bare metal finger kept slipping off the lighter's ignition button before it could depress the whole way, not finding enough purchase. Click. Click. Click.  
  
The thought to change hands was still on a buffer when Phil reached up to catch his hands, and clasped tightly around the lighter. Her finger flicked the button only once, keeping it pressed, and the flame sputtered to life, dancing in place.  
  
Nick cleared his throat--an artifact of a life he'd not lived, not an actual anatomical necessity--and he lit up his cigarette.  
  
"Thanks," he said.  
  
She nodded and released him. Without Phil's hands steady around his, he felt out of balance, though, so when she pulled back, he leaned unobtrusively against the desk before him.  
  
"He upset you," she said, accusation in her voice.  
  
" _I_ upset _him_. And you can't blame a man for feeling violated when that's exactly what he was."  
  
"God, Nick. This isn't the time to be hard on yourself. The other guy did the job already." She caught his arm and tugged, wanting him to turn around properly and face him, but Nick didn't have it in him at the moment, so he resisted, stayed turned away from her. "Just tell me how you are. What did you two talk about?"  
  
"The stuff you'd expect," Nick said. "Variations on 'what the hell' and 'who gave 'em the right'." He paused for a beat. "We talked about Eddie Winter."  
  
"What, he wasn't happy about that either?" Phil asked.  
  
"It's complicated. He can't say the world isn't a better place without scum like Winter gone, but it was the real Nick Valentine's loose end to tie up. Me getting involved, well... Word for it might be 'presumptuous', even if he didn't say it out loud."  
  
"You _are_ real, Nick. We've been over this," she said, and he could tell she was aching in sympathy for him.  
  
"It's different now. Harder to ignore that you're a cheap copy when the original article is knocking about."  
  
"He's not the original article," Phil said. "He's about two hundred years and a few skin layers removed from the original article. That was probably a racist thing of me to say, but it's true. He's not the same guy whose memories were given to you, any more than you're the same guy you were when you woke up with those memories."  
  
Strange as it was, the thought hadn't occurred to Nick. Hearing Phil voice it out loud jarred him out of his downward spiral into self-loathing.  
  
The thread of borrowed memories stopped abruptly at the day he went to the C.I.T. for the brain scan, and whether or not they ended up helping Nick Valentine like the eggheads promised they would, whether or not he'd ever gotten over Jenny's death, or over the betrayal of having the entire Winter's End operation turn out to be a ploy and all his work essentially pointless... It had been two hundred years, and people changed drastically over less time than that.

"You didn't do this to him, Nick. The Institute did it to both of you. And you had as much right to kill Eddie Winter as any other decent person who knew about him and the things he's done. If that other guy has a problem with that, he can take it up with me. That was _our_ act of justice. You remember telling me that? Ours alone."  
  
He turned his head to look at her for the first time, and she looked back at him earnestly, eyes bright with emotion. It twisted something in him to have her feel so much on his account.  
  
"Alright?" she asked, searching his face for some sign that he was taking her words to heart.  
  
He brought his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side in a hug. She molded herself against him without hesitation, and the press and warmth of her body was grounding. It was more than he deserved, but just what he needed right then.  
  
"Alright," he said.  
  
"Good." She let out a breath and he felt the tension in her body ease. "Good."


	3. Date Night With Mr. Valentine (The Other One)

If this were Goodneighbor, Phil would have thought nothing of throwing on that sequined red dress she had at the bottom of a drawer. It wouldn't have been her style before the bombs, but there was something about the open gaudiness of the garment that worked just right in the Wasteland.  
  
As it were, for Diamond City, throwing on any old clean dress counted as good as dressed up for a night on the town.  
  
She quietly slipped into the Dugout Inn that evening, and she took stock of the room as she did so. A busy enough night, though not crowded yet.  
  
Valentine was at the bar, not sitting, but leaning against it with a drink in his hand while he chatted with Yefim.  
  
Phil took a moment to observe Valentine, and it really was just a moment, because almost immediately, Vadim threw out his arms and yelled, across the room,  
  
"My friend! You come visit your old pal Vadim?"  
  
Almost everyone else ignored this outburst, used as they were to Vadim's antics, but Valentine's head whipped around and his eyes found Phil right away.  
  
Phil suppressed a sigh and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She smiled at Vadim as she approached the bar.  
  
"Sure, Vadim. Maybe try not to get me killed this time, okay?" she said, smiling at him.  
  
"Bah! Moonshine just went down the wrong pipe, is all," Vadim waved a hand dismissively. "You were fine after all the coughing."  
  
Valentine's eyebrow quirked in question. She hoped Vadim didn't think that was an anecdote he had to share at this very moment.  
  
"Besides, killing is what pistol is for, yes?" Vadim continued obliviously, then burst into laughter.  
  
Valentine's eyebrow lowered right back, into an expression of mild consternation.  
  
"He's joking," Phil felt the need to specify.  
  
"Yes, yes," Vadim choked out between paroxysms of laughter, and reached over the bar to slap Phil's shoulder. "A joke! I am a big joker, me!"  
  
"Maybe I can buy you a less offensive drink," Valentine offered.  
  
("Offensive? Who says my moonshine is offensive?" Vadim muttered.  
  
"Every customer who drinks it," Yefim muttered in response.)  
  
"Sure," Phil replied. "Bourbon will do."  
  
"I'm a whiskey man, myself," Valentine said with a grin.  
  
After Vadim provided them with their drinks, Valentine led her to the sofa, since it was currently unoccupied.

That was the point where Phil could have asked herself what she was doing there, with Valentine. She'd accepted his offer for drinks, sure, but she could have stood him up. She'd certainly developed the necessary rudeness for it, after her time in the Wasteland. The trappings of polite society simply weren't as _trapping_ as they used to be.  
  
But, well, she'd be fooling herself if she didn't admit that she wanted to be there. She was curious. Maybe a little bit compelled. There was no harm in it.  
  
"So, what brings you to Diamond City?" she asked, swirling her drink. "Unless you're just here because you had a bone to pick with Nick."  
  
"I actually found out about him on accident. I'm here on behalf of my employer."  
  
"And what is it that you do for your employer?" she asked.  
  
"Little bit of everything," Valentine said vaguely. "Anything they need someone trustworthy for. Let's say I work security, in this case."  
  
This actually gave Phil pause, and she looked him up and down.  
  
"You work security in a nice suit?" she asked, not sure what to make of that. "Not that I'm complaining, but I always picture security as involving a bit more heavy armor these days." She was picturing Edward Deegan, in fact.  
  
Valentine chuckled. His jacket was already unbuttoned, so he opened it up to flash her the coat lining.  
  
"Oh!" Phil mouthed, as she recognized the material. She reached out and slid her fingers over the fabric to make sure, though. Ballistic weave.  
  
She took his hand and brought it up to the collar of her dress, slipping his fingers just underneath. Valentine was momentarily puzzled until he rubbed slowly, and felt the lining of the dress, just over her collarbone.  
  
Then he laughed, because her dress was also lined with ballistic weave.  
  
"Ballistic weave, mark five?" he asked.  
  
"The same as you, I presume."  
  
"A woman after my own heart," he said. "Though it makes me wonder what kind of life you're leading where you show up for drinks armored."  
  
"Let's say my life is just interesting enough that I've learned," Phil replied, because she wanted to avoid mentioning that it was the only appropriate dress she had at Home Plate. "What about you? Must be nice having an employer who keeps you in ballistic weave and has you run mysterious errands."  
  
"Nothing mysterious about it, just a lot of money involved," Valentine replied.  
  
"You get paid to be vague?"  
  
"Not specifically, but I do get a nice bonus at the end of the year."  
  
It was Phil's turn to laugh.  
  
"I notice you're not asking my employer's name," he remarked.  
  
"I figure it's not a question I'd be getting an answer to," Phil replied.  
  
"You figure, huh? Me, personally, I'd still take a chance," Valentine said. "For instance, I'm going to ask you something that might well get me slapped."  
  
Phil raised an eyebrow at this, her glass halting halfway to her mouth.  
  
"Go on," she said.  
  
"You and Nick. Is there something there?"  
  
"Oh god," Phil blew out a breath. "No. Not for lack of trying on my part, though."  
  
"Huh," was Valentine's response to this. He got that look on his face, like when Nick was trying to figure something out. "Any particular reason why not?"  
  
"Plenty, I imagine. He doesn't think I realize this, but Nick's good at coming up with excuses to stay miserable," Phil replied.  
  
Valentine inclined his head, thoughtful.  
  
"The guy got screwed, all things considered," Valentine said after a pause. "When I went in for that brainscan, I was at the lowest point in my life, and I'm including the stretch of time when my skin first started sloughing off."  
  
"God," Phil mumbled under her breath.  
  
"It was after Jenny died," Valentine continued. His eyes were downcast, fixed on the glass in his hand as he swirled the amber liquid in it. "There was a short while when I thought bringing Eddie Winter to justice would be enough to make up for her death, but then the case got pulled out of from under us by the BADTFL."  
  
Phil realized she knew this part. She remembered the holotape she'd found in the BADTFL evidence locker, the label saying 'We are done', signed with Captain Widmark underneath. She'd popped it into her Pip-boy, and even after realizing it had been addressed to the original Nick Valentine, she did not pop it out again. She'd lowered the volume and listened to it among the shelves, holding her breath while Nick was rifling through the other room. She felt bad for listening to it afterwards, unsure that she had had the right, but she never told anyone about it.  
  
"It turned out Winter was working with the feds right under our nose, the entire time. We were just the suckers providing cover while the real operation was going on, and I took it worse than anyone else when the whole thing came to light. A damn joke, and a bad one, when the whole reason I left Chicago and dragged Jenny along with me was so I could work on this damn case."  
  
He sighed, very slightly.  
  
"They were nice, the people over at the C.I.T. They promised the brainscan would help. They had a whole plan for the next months, and they laid it out for me after the scan. I was going to get groundbreaking treatment and my case study would help a lot of other people in the future. But, well, then the world went to hell in a handbasket, and that didn't exactly pan out like they hoped."  
  
He looked up at her, and Phil looked back quietly. She reached out to squeeze his arm.  
  
"It's alright," he said, covering her hand with his. "I never stopped missing Jenny, but the pain fades, in time."  
  
"I know," Phil said, subdued.  
  
"You do?"  
  
"I had a husband."  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, understanding right away.  
  
Phil nodded distractedly.  
  
"Anyway," Valentine continued, "it's been over two hundred years for me, and all the things I had to work through, I worked through the old fashioned way, without any fancy brain science."  
  
"So you're happier now?"  
  
"I'd say I'm not a sadsack," Valentine replied. "Happy is a bit harder to pin down than that. Happy can be as simple as having a drink with a gorgeous woman in a ballistic weave dress."  
  
Phil laughed.  
  
"Oh, so that's why you were asking about me and Nick?" she said, only half-teasing.  
  
"I prefer not to impose on a lady if she has... different preoccupations," he said.  
  
Phil had met her fair share of men who would have said, in his situation, that they wouldn't want to muscle in on another guy's territory, like she was something up for stake. Valentine, though, he was a gentleman. Phil could tell. Not just the holding-doors-open type of gentleman, but the kind who made sure a lady had her fun first before popping his cork. That was an entirely more rare breed of gentleman than the first and _why was she thinking about this right now?_

"Could I bother you for a cigarette?" she asked, feeling her face turn shades and hoping he didn't notice.

"No bother at all," Valentine said with a smile, and produced a package.

Then he also produced a lighter, and held it out so Phil could light her cigarette. He held her gaze as she leaned forward to light it, and Phil couldn't help but be reminded that before the war, this would unambiguously have been a flirtatious gesture, on both their parts.

She'd forgotten, somewhat. Affairs of love and attraction in the Commonwealth these days were straightforward more often than not. 'You wanna...?' 'Yeah, you?' and then off to the races. And Phil could appreciate cutting through the bullshit most of the time.

But sometimes she missed the familiar games she'd spent so much time learning, and practicing, and honing. She missed the almost ritualized stages of intimacy, where to touch and how long and where next. The slow inching forward, frustrating at times, but in just the right way when you eventually got what you wanted. The wordplay and innuendo. Most people in the Commonwealth these days could hardly even _spell_ 'delayed gratification'.

And Valentine, he remembered too. She could tell, though she didn't know if it was subconscious on his part or deliberate. She could tell by the way he'd managed to slip his arm behind her, on the backrest just over her shoulders. So smoothly that she hadn't even noticed until that very moment.

She knew by the cocksure smirk that he knew exactly what he was doing.

"You know, I was kind of sure you didn't like Nick," she said, apropos of nothing.

"I'm not crazy about the situation," Valentine admitted. "Might have said some harsh things to him, but he's out here doing good work. Made something of himself, in spite of all... that." He made a vague gesture.

"So you don't mind he got to Eddie Winter before you could?" she asked.

Here was the first time she saw Valentine hesitant and unsure. He cleared his throat and straightened his jacket to stall for time.

"When I proposed to my employer that they extend operations into the Commonwealth, it might have been for personal reasons, I admit," he said. "I thought... well, two birds with one stone. I wouldn't say I'm disappointed Eddie Winter's dead, but I would have preferred to have a hand in it."

"I killed the man who murdered my husband," she said, and Valentine's eyes turned to her, soft and patient as he waited to continue. "I wouldn't describe the experience as satisfying. It felt... hollow. Maybe it would have felt differently to you, though."

"No," Valentine said, gentle as he brushed fingers over her hair, "it probably wouldn't have."

His voice had that quality of regret and sympathy that she sometimes heard from Nick. It always felt like something warm she could wrap herself into, and she'd come to associate it with comfort. Now, though, it made her mouth dry and her head feel light. She looked down at her glass, but it was empty.

"Can I get you another?" Valentine asked, and she nodded.

Phil had composed herself by the time Valentine returned, and they talked instead about her own life and past, and then about their pre-war lives. It turned out he'd gleaned quite a lot about her from the radio and from stories about her around Diamond City--he had been a detective after all--but he was more curious about hearing about it from the horse's mouth, so to speak.

The conversation continued well into the evening, and by the end of the night one of Valentine's palms was pressed over her knee, fingers tracing slow circle, while the fingers of his other hand were lazily curling a lock of her hair. Pressed up against his side, Phil couldn't complain. She played with his tie and chuckled warmly at his jokes.

When it got late, Valentine offered to walk her home. He offered her an arm, and Phil was just tipsy enough that she appreciated it.

Outside, in the brisk night air, her head cleared a bit, but they didn't speak until they reached Home Plate.

"Maybe we can do this again sometime," he said as Phil fiddled with her key.

"I'd like that," she replied. "Are you at the Dugout Inn every night?"

"Actually I had something a bit different in mind," he said. "Would you mind if I picked you up tomorrow evening?"

"Sure," she said, now curious. "Eight?"

"Eight's perfect." Valentine tipped his hat at her. "See you then."

Phil smiled as let herself into the house. She leaned against the door and took a deep breath, thankful that Home Plate was a complete mess. She would have been too tempted to invite him in otherwise.


	4. Messrs. Valentine Do Lunch

The next morning, Nick dropped in at Home Plate just in time to find Phil taking a pallet apart with a claw hammer. Each nail she tugged out, she dropped into a tin can for safe keeping.  
  
"Can I help you with that?" he asked.  
  
"There's a diagnostics cart I was looking to take apart next," she said. "You could get me started on that? Should get a lot of screws out of it."  
  
He saw it, shoved in a corner. Half of Home Plate was still full of junk Phil wanted to repurpose, shoved into as small a space as possible, but the cart still loomed next to her bath tub, and a dish of soap rested on it from the last time she'd taken a bath. He placed the soap on the edge of the tub and took a screwdriver, getting ready to take the cart apart.  
  
"So, any particular reason for this visit, or are you just nostalgic for your handyman days?" Phil asked, as she continued wrenching out nails.  
  
"The day I get nostalgic for that job, I'm going to strip the skin off my other hand myself," he replied. "No, I was... coming to see if you got home alright."  
  
Phil stopped with her hammer poised and turned to give him a wide smile. She was dusty, dressed in work clothes, and with her hair sloppily pulled back, but with that smile, damn if she wasn't a vision. Nick felt something stutter in his chest at the sight.  
  
"Worried about li'l ol' me, detective?" she crooned, teasing. "Thought I might have gotten in over my head in the big bad city?"  
  
"You could get in over your head just getting yourself a glass of water," Nick muttered in reply. "You were out late last night, that's all. Just thought I should check in with you."  
  
"Oh, so you know _who_ I was out late with, too, I take it."  
  
"It was hard to miss," Nick admitted.  
  
"So, what, don't you trust him?" Phil continued, voice perfectly innocent.  
  
Nick wasn't even sure where to start with that question. Trust wasn't the only issue here, and certainly not the reason he spent the entire night impatiently smoking and watching the clock, waiting for an appropriate hour to visit Phil.  
  
"I trust him to show a lady a good time and get her home alright, if that's what you mean," he said. "It's all the rest of him I have questions about."  
  
"So you're not jealous, you're just curious," Phil said.  
  
"Yes," Nick replied a bit too quickly, and then frowned. "Now hold on a minute, I didn't say I was jealous."  
  
"I didn't either," Phil said innocently. "The exact opposite, in fact."  
  
Nick gave her a _look_ , but let it slide for now.  
  
"I didn't catch all that much about him when we talked yesterday, but I've asked around, and he works for some bigwig from outside the Commonwealth."  
  
"Yeah, I know. He works security for some rich, mysterious... entity, I guess."  
  
"You got that out of him?" Nick asked, taken aback.  
  
"I didn't 'get it out of him'," Phil replied. "We talked and he told me a bit about it."  
  
"Did he say anything else? The employer's name? What kind of business are we talking about here?"  
  
"No," Phil said, "unfortunately I didn't take time to interrogate him."  
  
"What exactly were you doing with him, then?"  
  
"Talking, Nick. You know? This thing we're also doing right now?" she said, gesturing between the two of them with the hammer. "Though I guess we could call this gossiping instead."  
  
"Let's not."

"Alright. But just so you know, there's easier ways to do go about this."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Lunch."  
  
"I don't eat," Nick said dryly.  
  
"I'm sure _he_ does," Phil replied, even drier. "Just buy the guy lunch and sit down for a chat together. I'm sure he's got plenty of questions, too. You can find out who's the better _interrogator_."  
  
"When you use that tone, you make it sound like I'd be hitting on the guy."  
  
"Ooh, only if I get to watch."  
  
"Phil."  
  
"Okay! You can have your privacy. But please just sit down and chat, I don't want to be stuck between you two asking me questions about each other."  
  
"He asked about me?"  
  
"Like you're the only one who's curious?" Phil rolled her eyes. "But I can ask him for you, if you'd like."  
  
"No, don't do that," Nick said, shaking his head. "I'll... have a talk with him myself."  
  
"The sooner, the better. He won't be in Diamond City forever."  
  
Nick grunted in acknowledgment. They continued working in silence for a while longer, as Phil took apart another pallet, and Nick continued to take apart the cart.  
  
"So other than that, how do you feel?" Phil asked after a while.  
  
"Don't worry, the cart isn't getting the best of me," Nick replied, not taking his eyes off his work.  
  
"Nick," she said, putting the hammer down and turning to him. She didn't say anything more, but she looked at him expectantly.  
  
Nick sighed.  
  
"I'm fine, you don't need to worry about me. Honest."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'd tell you if it was bad," Nick said, but Phil still looked at him persistently. "I _will_ tell you if it's bad."  
  
"Okay." She accepted that answer.  
  
Then she rose, stretching her legs, and went off to get another tin can for nails. As she passed Nick, he reached out and touched her hand, not quite grabbing it.  
  
"Hey," he said, looking up at her, "you take care of yourself too, you hear?"  
  
Phil laughed and bent over, giving Nick a peck on the cheek and patting his shoulder.  
  
"Anything for you, Nick," she said, with her usual emotional effusiveness.

* * *

 

Nick considered it a sound piece of advice. Especially under the circumstances, which were...  
  
_Weird._  
  
The entire situation, just utterly odd. He'd operated under the assumption that the original Nick Valentine had to be dead--if not because of the bombs, ten at the very least old age--so the current situation felt like the universe was pulling a fast one on him.  
  
And now, well... what was he supposed to do? _Reminisce_? When the guy was already creeped out by some automaton going around with his memories?  
  
So, Nick defaulted to more familiar behavior, because it was easier being an investigator than... whatever he was in this situation.  
  
Phil seemed amused by his attitude, and it was obvious that she had some idea that this was his way of working through the situation. But she was also ignoring some aspects that she maybe would not have if she were not under the impression that she already knew the ghoul. Namely that the Commonwealth was rough, but plenty other places were much rougher.  
  
For many years, the worst institutions of human depravity had been kept at bay, if not by the Minutemen and their lingering presence, then by the Institute's activities, which made plenty of outsiders leery of moving their activities into the Commonwealth, whether legitimate or not.  
  
And Nick knew that there were places where slavers commanded towns and plied their trade openly, without opposition. He knew there were worse mercenary groups out there than the Gunners. He knew there were despots, small and large, that there were people with armies and actual honest-to-goodness governments who would look upon the Commonwealth and their loosely affiliated but ultimately independent settlements, and see only ripe pickings.  
  
So Phil might not have seen anything suspicious in an outsider sniffing out the Commonwealth for 'security' reasons, but Nick rather suspected that was because of who was doing the sniffing. He did not want her to feel disappointed if it turned out her trust had been misplaced.  
  
The operating word being, of course, _if_.  
  
_If_ , Nick reminded himself, as he lingered on the walkway just off the Colonial Taphouse and watched Valentine having a discussion with Wellingham. By the way the Mr. Handy was acting--especially solicitous--Nick guessed Valentine had either turned on the charm or flashed some impressive cash. The sharp suit would have helped with either one of those.  
  
Nick had almost finished his cigarette when Wellingham hovered away, and Valentine turned to look straight at him. Nick didn't think there would have been any fooling Valentine anyway, and this was as good as an invitation. He walked up.  
  
There was an issue of Publick Occurrences on the table, an ashtray with a lit cigarette, a glass of ice cold Nuka Cola. As Nick sat down, Valentine stuffed a notepad and a pencil into the inner pocket of his suit, and smoothed down the material.  
  
"I was wondering if you'd come see me," Valentine spoke, a wry smile pulling at his lips. "Figured we didn't have business that could be hashed out in one sitting."  
  
"You figured right," Nick replied, and put out the stub of his cigarette into the ashtray.  
  
Valentine's eyes fell on the cigarette.  
  
"That do anything for you?" he asked, gesturing to it.  
  
"You'd be surprised," Nick replied. "So are you up for it? Are we... hashing out?"  
  
"Sure," Valentine said. "What does it do for you?"  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"The cigarette. What does it do for you?"  
  
As good a place to start as any, Nick supposed, though maybe not one he expected. Valentine's burnt-out eyes were hard to read, but he was looking as if he could wait for an answer as long as it took. _Is this how I--he--looked from the perp's seat? Is this what Nick Valentine looked like to the people he'd interrogated back in his day?_ Nick wondered.

"Nothing physically, I don't suppose," Nick admitted. "I'm not exactly made to process nicotine anymore. I think it's more psychological. Because the mind remembers what it feels like to smoke, it reproduces that feeling. I figured maybe it would wear off as time passed, as I... 'forgot' about being flesh and blood. But now I think this isn't a memory quirk, but something that happens by design. God knows why the Institute thought _this_ was a useful feature, but there was hardly any explaining why they did most things."  
  
"Anything else this happens with?" Valentine asked.  
  
"Yeah, well... getting shot in the fiberglass still hurts like the real thing," Nick replied. Though in that case, at least, he could see the purpose to it more clearly. His casing had sensors, and pain was a good motivator towards self-preservation, even if his parts now were more sturdy than flesh.  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
"You asking about something in particular, or should I make an itemized list?"  
  
"Let's say I'm looking for any sign that you'd still enjoy holding a beautiful woman."  
  
Nick was stunned for a moment, before his shock boiled over into indignation. He clenched his jaw before he could let loose anything too crass.  
  
Valentine wanted a reaction. He was looking for it, his hands folded on the table, his eyes sharply attentive. Nick was not going to give him the satisfaction.  
  
"Why do I get the feeling that this wasn't a question you'd be asking if you hadn't met Phil?" Nick gritted out slowly, calmly.  
  
"Well, I _have_ met her," Valentine replied. "And I have to assume there's a reason you're not making sweet on her, 'cause I know _I_ certainly wouldn't be missing out on anything she's got to offer."  
  
It struck to the confused bundle of feelings Nick had towards Phil, and it took effort not to reveal how deeply those went.  
  
"The issue isn't what Phil has to offer," Nick said slowly, "it's that I don't have anything worth giving in return."  
  
"She doesn't seem to think so," Valentine said, leaning back and crossing his arms as he studied Nick. "Seems to think what you've got is just fine. Right now I gotta wonder what she sees in you, though."  
  
"I think you'll find that in her estimation of people, Phil tends to round up," Nick replied, and unable to help a petty jab, added, "In case you were wondering why she was giving _you_ the time of day."  
  
A beat passed. Valentine looked unimpressed.  
  
Nick sighed and covered his face with a palm. He was being an ass.  
  
"Sorry," Nick muttered, then more firmly, "Didn't mean to make it sound like that. She's a fine woman. She's..." He sighed. "She's a dream. She's the best partner I could ever ask for. What we got is already plenty."  
  
Valentine raised an eyebrow at this.  
  
"Alright," he said, and picked up the newspaper from the table, unfolding it pointedly. "In that case, I will be making up for the lady's disappointment myself."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Nick asked, narrowing his eyes.  
  
Valentine spared him only a glance over the top of his newspaper.  
  
"It means unlike some people, I don't let good things pass me by," Valentine replied, "and I have no qualms over showing a lady a good time if that's what she's on the market for."  
  
Then he snapped his newspaper up, and Nick knew the gesture for the dismissal it was.  
  
Nick walked away from the encounter such a mess of confused feelings, that it wasn't until he was back at the agency that he realized he did not get to ask any of his questions.


	5. It's Date Night; Do You Know Where Your Phil Is?

Phil's day consisted mainly of nervously trying not to watch the clock. She cleaned out the worst of Home Plate's mess and piled the remainder in the corner, where it was at least out of the way and looked more purposeful than a collection of random junk. After that she had a bath and a quick lunch.  
  
A chunk of the afternoon was spent at Fallon's Basement, where she looked for a new dress because there was no way she was showing up for two dates in a row wearing the same one, and another chunk of the afternoon was spent altering the newly bought dress so it fit her properly.  
  
When eight rolled around, she was waiting in front of Home Plate, hands clenched around a battered old clutch purse, so she wouldn't fidget. Weirdly, the moment she saw Valentine walk up, his gait loose and fluid, her tension eased.  
  
He tipped his hat and offered his arm with a nod, and she couldn't help a grin as she accepted it.  
  
"I still don't know what you have planned for me," she said.  
  
"Good," he said. "I would've been real disappointed if you'd've popped on a Stealth-boy, snooped, and ruined your surprise."  
  
"I'm terrible at sneaking."  
  
"Oh, so if you'd been better at it you would have done just that?" he asked, chuckling.  
  
"If I'd been better at it, there's a lot of things I would have done," Phil chortled in response.  
  
"Well, I'll leave my door unlocked if you'd like the practice," he offered.  
  
Phil gasped and swatted his arm, trying to look shocked.  
  
"Mister Valentine, that is a _cheeky_ suggestion!" she said.  
  
He grinned widely at her, and leaned closer to her ear, pitching his voice low.  
  
"Only if you wouldn't be amenable to it, sweetheart," he said.  
  
Phil felt heat creeping up her neck.  
  
She noticed belatedly that he was leading her to the Upper Stands, and had a few moments to puzzle out whether he was taking her to the Colonial Taphouse. It was certainly an establishment with higher standards, but they mostly maintained those standards through catering to smug blowhards. The recent change in ownership had done nothing to improve the Upper Stands clientele itself.  
  
Valentine did, indeed, stop by the Taphouse to talk to Wellingham, but their exchange was short.  
  
"All set, Wellingham?" Valentine asked.  
  
"As you requested, sir," the robot replied.  
  
And that was that. Valentine ushered Phil along, a little past the Taphouse and towards a different metal sheet wall, with a whitewashed door. This was where Valentine pushed the door open and gestured for her to enter.  
  
Phil did so. Then Valentine flipped on the light, and her breath caught in her throat.  
  
Long strings of fairy lights were hung overhead, and Phil was impressed that so many had even survived the apocalypse, because she remembered what a pain these things were. One light went out, and the rest decided they didn't want to turn on either.  
  
Her gaze dropped lower, then, to the rest of the room. There was a table set up for dinner, a jukebox up in the corner with its outer chassis missing but looking otherwise functional, a liquor cabinet, a sofa with a low coffee table and a radio.   
  
Phil couldn't quite figure out the purpose of this room beyond it being meant for a romantic rendezvous.   
  
"Did you set all this up?" she asked.  
  
"Most of it was already here," Valentine said. "I arranged with Wellingham for a thorough dusting. And, of course..."  
  
He walked her over to the table, where an appetizing dinner was already laid out.  
  
"I hope," Phil said carefully, "that he didn't ask you to... hunt for deathclaw eggs or something in return."  
  
Valentine laughed.  
  
"No, nothing like that. Though he did appreciate that I fixed _this_ up." He pushed a button on the jukebox. Pre-selected music began playing, soft jazz filling the room  
  
"Aren't you full of talents," she said.  
  
"I could demonstrate a few more," he said, and took her hand. "Care for a dance?"  
  
Phil accepted, and then laughed as Valentine spun her right into his arms.

* * *

 

Nick paced. It wasn't the tense pacing of a few hours ago. Somewhere between his two-hundredth and three-hundredth circling of the office, he had slowly started to come into a realization.  
  
What was that old saying? Why get mad when you could get even?  
  
Yeah.  
  
So where he'd started by anxiously stalking the floor, now he merely strode from one end of the room to the other, in slow, measured steps. When he passed by his desk, he tapped the ash of his cigarette into his ashtray, and then turned to walk the other way again.  
  
Nights could be a special kind of frustrating for Nick, as he didn't sleep. Still too much left in his head telling him he ought to, though, and even if that were not the problem, even a big settlement like Diamond City wasn't large enough to sustain a nightlife. So he spent nights working, or running diagnostics, or catching up on any number of things.  
  
Tonight, Nick caught up on a few decades of feeling sorry for himself, sorted it into a neat drawer, and slammed it shut.  
  
When morning rolled around, he left the agency. It was probably too early for Phil to be awake, but he hung around in the alley across from Home Plate, finishing his cigarette as he waited.  
  
He expected to be waiting for a while longer, for Phil to wake up and go out to scour the market for fresh foot. Instead, about half an hour before the shops opened, he saw Phil and Valentine come ambling down from the Stands, walking hand in hand towards Home Plate.  
  
It burned somewhere in the pit of his chest to see them; Nick couldn't deny it burned. But he stood motionless and watched them, their heads close together as they talked. He heard Phil's husky chuckle echo through the empty marketplace.  
  
When they reached her door, Nick half expected Phil to pull Valentine in after her; catch him by the tie and tug him over the threshold. He could picture it perfectly. But then he was so busy with that mental image, that what actually happened took him by surprise.  
  
Phil was pushed with her back against the door, and Valentine kissed her breathless. One of her hands was fisted in the back of his coat, and the other was on the back of his neck urging him on, and Nick stood there and watched.  
  
Hardly the first time he'd seen Phil kissing someone--she was on kissing terms with a number of people at any given moment--but this was the first time Nick had wanted to shove that person aside and take over. It was the first time Nick ever wanted to poke his nose into Phil's business and find out what _else_ she was doing with someone. What else she could possibly have been doing all night.  
  
But no, Nick only watched as Valentine drank her in until she was gasping and clinging to him, and laughing her low laugh.  
  
In the end, she did not pull Valentine inside with her. They parted at the door.   
  
When Valentine turned around, he tipped his hat in Nick's direction.  
  
In lieu of throwing down a gauntlet, Nick merely flicked his cigarette to the ground and stomped on it. Valentine understood all the same.  
  
God, Nick felt like a jackass at that moment. He'd been wasting time when he could've been the one in that situation.  
  
Well. Live and learn, Nick thought to himself. And he'd certainly been learning this entire time.


	6. Revenge Is a Dish Best Served As Breakfast

Phil was still blearily trying to put on her shoes when there was a knock at the door. She sat there for a moment, considering if she wanted to hop over there with one shoe on to answer, but then sighed and yelled, "Come in." She could be a better host after she finished her errands for the day and got some sleep.  
  
Nick let himself in, carrying a canvas grocery bag in one hand, and an issue of Publick Occurrences under his arm.  
  
"Mornin'," he said cheerily, strolling right in and towards the table. "Had fun last night?"  
  
Phil looked at him, letting her puzzlement show, before she answered.  
  
"Yes?" she said. "What about you? Had an especially good night's diagnostics or something?"  
  
"Didn't run any," Nick replied, beaming at her as he unloaded the canvas bag.  
  
It was food. A cut of meat from Choice Chops, judging by the brown packaging. A bottle of brahmin's milk. A bottle of Nuka Cola Quantum. Tatoes, mutfruit, assorted vegetables. A tin of cram, a tin of potato crisps. And a can of--  
  
"Is that pineapple?" Phil asked, eyes going wide.  
  
"I give it fifty-fifty odds it's just mold by this point," Nick said, showing her the can, "but they were advertising some pretty heavy-duty preservatives for this brand, as I recall, so I figured it's worth rolling the dice."  
  
"I love pineapple," Phil whispered, awed.  
  
Nick chuckled and set the can aside. He knew, because when they were looting the remains of an old grocery store together, she spent the entire time waxing poetic about the virtues of canned pineapple over fresh. Nick didn't care for pineapple either way, but Phil had had some memorably strong feelings on the issue.  
  
"You should probably save it for desert," he said.  
  
"Okay, yeah, but I'm opening it now," she said. "Just to check."  
  
She kicked off her shoe, slipped her feet back into her slippers, and launched herself off the sofa in search of a can opener. She managed to produce a rusty old one from a cabinet, and wandered back in Nick's direction just in time to see he had fired up the hotplate and placed a pan on top.  
  
"What are you doing?" she asked.  
  
"You got any cooking oil?" he asked. "I didn't buy any because I figured you'd have some."  
  
Phil reached into a low cupboard, took out a bottle of cooking oil, and placed it on the table before asking again,  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Breakfast," Nick replied. "You should be familiar with the concept. I hear there are even people who have one every day."  
  
"Scandalous," Phil said dryly. "But-- what for?"  
  
"To eat."  
  
Phil narrowed her eyes at Nick, expecting some elaboration on the issue, but Nick continued with his cooking and said nothing more.  
  
Phil decided to drop it for now, and instead turned to the canned pineapple. It was a struggle to get the rusty can opener to work, but she prevailed in the end. When she pried the lid off and finally peered inside, there was no strange smell or obvious signs of rot.  
  
She picked up a fork and fished out a piece of pineapple, nibbling on it carefully. After ascertaining it was perfectly edible, and even retaining a hint of flavor, she poked her fork back.  
  
"Don't ruin your appetite," Nick said, without turning around.  
  
Phil sighed loudly, but she put the fork down and sprawled into a chair.  
  
But her eyes turned to Nick puttering around the hotplate, and she propped her chin on her fist as she watched him. With him occupied with putting together breakfast, she had just enough time to start wondering why people were trying to feed her lately.  
  
Well. Not _people_ , just... Nick and Valentine.  
  
Nick finally turned and placed the plate on the table before her, and Phil tilted her head up at him, still wondering. He smiled and reached out to catch her chin between his thumb and forefinger for a moment. It was a fleeting gesture, but the casual affection took Phil by surprise, and she was still blinking rapidly when he spoke.  
  
"Eat up," he said.  
  
Phil swallowed dryly, unsure what to make of any of this.  
  
Her eyes dropped to the plate before her, laden with a succulent cut of meat fried to perfection, and some lightly sautéed tatoes. The smell alone had been working up her appetite, and she tucked in without another word.  
  
Nick sat across from her, studiously reading the paper he'd brought along.

"So, no case at the moment?" Phil asked.  
  
"Nothing pressing," Nick said, not taking his eyes off the page. "I'll let you know if there's any kitty-cats that need saving from trees."  
  
"Oh no, you don't need to wait until there's an _emergency_ to call me," Phil replied gravely.  
  
His eyes flicked up towards her, only the yellow rings of his pupils visible in the space between the top of the newspaper and the brim of his hat. But she thought he was smiling behind the paper, and so she smiled in return.  
  
"You know, Nick, for someone without taste buds, you're a surprisingly talented cook," she said.  
  
"Used to cook," he said, the slightest hitch in his voice, "the old Nick Valentine, I mean."  
  
"For someone in particular?" Phil asked innocently.  
  
"For anyone special, usually," Nick replied.  
  
Phil's eyebrows actually went up at this response. And now she got the feeling that Nick was definitely smirking behind that newspaper.  
  
"So what is this, Nick? You buy me groceries, you cook me breakfast...?"  
  
"Figured you'd like to spend a day in," he said, and lowered his newspaper to look at her. "How long since you've actually had one?"  
  
"Well, it was probably..." Phil trailed off as she thought.  
  
Not counting times when she was injured and bedbound, probably since over two hundred years ago, if she was to be honest. Leisure time was not exactly a staple of the Wasteland, and with so many things to do, she tended to count as days off those which she reserved for home improvements instead of bloodying her way through the Commonwealth's dangerous and degenerate.  
  
"I find other ways to unwind," she said evenly.  
  
"Phil, sweetheart... after you blew up the Institute, you spent three weeks running around Goodneighbor pretending to be a comic book hero."  
  
"...Oh. Hancock told you about that."  
  
"It was mentioned," Nick said tactfully. "And there's worse ways to deal with grief or stress, I'll grant you. But maybe take a day or two off before you reach that point."  
  
"But I'm not stressed right now," Phil said.  
  
"Good, then keep at it," Nick said, and resumed reading the paper.  
  
Phil regarded Nick for a few more moments, and arrived at the conclusion that maybe she was not feeling stressed, but _somebody_ in this room certainly was. If this was how Nick felt like dealing with it, she wouldn't argue with it. There were, as he said, worse ways of dealing with that kind of thing.  
  
She continued eating the delicious breakfast he'd cooked her, not minding at all.

* * *

After breakfast, Phil moved on the couch, cradling her can of pineapple and eating directly from it with a fork. Nick turned on the radio, and joined her as well, lighting himself a cigarette.  
  
After a while, he could see from the corner of his eye that Phil kept turning towards him, opening her mouth as if to speak, and then changing her mind. She glumly stuffed pineapple into her mouth instead, and chewed thoughtfully.  
  
"Something on your mind?" Nick asked, keeping his voice light. Smoke whorled around him, but his cigarette was down to a stub, and he put it out in the ashtray on the coffee table.  
  
Phil had a moment's hesitation, but she placed the canned pineapple on the coffee table as well.  
  
"This is probably a very inappropriate thing to mention," she began, and Nick actually turned to look at her.   
  
What ever he expected her to say, he didn't imagine she'd begin like this.  
  
"Okay, now you've got me curious," he said.  
  
"I--" Phil stopped again and sighed. She pinched the bridge of her nose.  
  
"Hey, now..." Nick moved closer to her, his left hand trailing over her shoulder and his fingers massaging the back of her neck lightly. "It's alright, we can just drop it if it's that bad."  
  
"It's not anything bad, I just..." Phil gestured helplessly. "I didn't sleep with Valentine."  
  
There was a pregnant pause after that. Nick's fingers stalled for a moment on the back of Phil's neck.  
  
"That came out wrong," Phil muttered, and tried again: "I didn't sleep with Valentine because I felt weird about it. Because of you."  
  
"Because of me," Nick echoed. His thumb had begun moving again, in tiny circles against her nape.   
  
"I don't know," Phil said, crossing her arms across her chest. "I thought I wanted to, but I kept... thinking about you."  
  
"And that put you off sex," Nick said dryly.  
  
"God, Nick," Phil sighed. "I can't take you joking your way out of this conversation anymore. Can you put the self-deprecation on pause?"  
  
Nick blinked in the face of this--and how strange of Phil to say that, when _she_ was the one always jokingly flirting with him--but then not strange at all, after he admitted to himself that she was never as joking about it as he pretended she was.  
  
"Alright," he said gently.  
  
He withdrew his hand from the back of her neck, but Phil caught it without a glance, and brought it down to her lap where she held his hand between both of his; like a lifeline.  
  
"It felt weird," she resumed, "because I started thinking that maybe I was only going to sleep with Valentine as a replacement for you. And that's-- I've never--" She shook her head. "I've never done that. I never do things with people while imagining they're someone different. For me, it's always been the genuine article, or not at all. This felt too much like... I don't know. Not really fair towards either you or Valentine. You're not replaceable, and Valentine didn't deserve getting treated like a replacement."  
  
It struck Nick like a bolt of lightning on a clear day, the notion that Phil would consider Valentine the imitation of who she really wanted. It seemed like a strange twist of fate, for all that it was in his favor. Nick still couldn't completely grasp that who she wanted was _him_. If his mouth could go dry, it would've.  
  
"You tell Valentine that?" he asked.  
  
"I didn't, but I think he guessed. He didn't press or anything. We just danced, and talked, and... uh..." She coughed a bit.  
  
"Necked like a couple of teenagers?" Nick suggested.  
  
"Well, that part didn't make me feel weird," Phil replied, with a dignified upward tilt of her chin even as her cheeks flushed dark. Her eyelashes fluttered as she continued, "I had a good time. I hadn't danced in so long, and I... felt younger for a while. It was nice."

She looked down at Nick's hand in her lap.  
  
"Is it weird for you, Nick? Seeing me with him?" she asked.   
  
Her voice was fragile, and her gaze remained lowered. He could see her chewing the inside of her cheek in worry, and it made him scoot a bit closer to her.  
  
"Not so weird that it isn't worth seeing you happy," Nick said.  
  
Phil looked up at him, eyebrows quirking in surprise.  
  
"Maybe," Nick continued carefully, "I also think about how that could've been me this entire time, if I wasn't acting the fool."  
  
Phil's expression softened in response, from surprise into gentle yearning. He'd never seen her like this before, not with this exact expression. It felt like something Nick could keep just for himself, folded up in his heart. He inched closer, like bending to gravity, until his forehead leaned against hers and her eyes slowly closed.  
  
"Nick..." she breathed out, so faint and hopeful.  
  
There was nothing to stop Nick from closing that last inch between their lips, except the thrill of anticipation. He wanted to stay like this a while longer, to linger in this moment for a while just because she allowed it.  
  
Maybe he waited a bit too long, because he caught the annoyed twitch of her eyelids.  
  
"You know," she said conversationally, "the longer you keep me waiting, the higher my expectations are going to be."  
  
The corner of Nick's lip twitched in amusement.  
  
"Better make it good, then," he said, and slid his hand to the back of her head to drag her into a kiss.  
  
There was a gasp of surprise when he caught her mouth, and he swallowed it as he deepened the contact. It occurred to him that he might not taste great, or much like anything organic, but his casing was as yielding as flesh, and his sensors could feel as well as any stretch of skin. She did not seem put off. Her mouth was hot and soft and she made delicate little sounds of pleasure that he couldn't help but love. He rumbled in response, and that seemed like Phil's cue to launch herself onto his lap.  
  
Nick broke the kiss only long enough to give her a bewildered look--and she was just as wild-eyed, just as surprised at her own actions--before they were upon one another again. His arms went around her, as tightly as he dared without hurting her. Her hands cupped his face, floundered a bit when they came across the gap on the side of his head, but then her fingers traced the edges of it with curious caresses, as if learning the shape anew, and they kissed each other deeply, like they were each other's cold drink of water at the end of a long day.  
  
It was a long time before they broke off the kiss again, and afterwards, they remained in position, this time Phil leaning against his forehead as her breaths came heavy and quick.  
  
"Yeah, okay," Phil said, and Nick blinked in surprise. "Expectations exceeded," she said.  
  
He blinked, then laughed, and then he hauled Phil out of his lap and laid her down onto the couch, on her back. She squealed in surprise, but began laughing as well, and when they tried to kiss, their teeth kept clacking together because neither could stop grinning.  
  
Nick's hat got knocked off in the process, and one of the joints of his exposed hand caught a tangle of Phil's hair, but then they managed to compose themselves long enough to start kissing again, and at least for a little while, everything felt perfect.


	7. Party Planning

Nick knew it was coming, because he knew what he'd be doing in Valentine's place. When he finally heard the knock on the door, Nick felt like he'd guessed it down to the second.  
  
Valentine, conversely, was probably not expecting Nick to be the one to answer Phil's door. Surprise registered on the ghoul's face for a few seconds, before his eyes narrowed and he began reassessing the situation.  
  
"Nice flowers," Nick said conversationally, leaning against the doorframe. "She'll like 'em."  
  
"You think so?" Valentine looked down at the bouquet in his hands. Some hubflowers, a few sprigs of mutated fern in bloom, and a handy strip of bright paper had been cobbled together into something that could aptly be called beautiful. "I wasn't sure if I ought to have also gotten her a vase."  
  
"She would have loved a new vase, too, but she already has problems storing all the ones she already has," Nick said.  
  
Valentine cracked a smile at that, and Nick mirrored the expression.  
  
"So," Valentine started, "I will say that, right from the beginning, I did ask the lady if she was otherwise engaged."  
  
"And I will say," Nick replied, "that if the lady has ever practiced monogamy for a day in her life, it was purely by accident."  
  
Valentine raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Is that salient information in these circumstances?"  
  
"Could be," Nick replied. He hesitated for a moment before he continued, "Putting aside whatever's going on between me and her, she does honestly like you."  
  
"Well, at least _someone_ does."  
  
"Didn't say I _dis_ liked you," Nick replied.  
  
"Sure, sure. You just need to get to _know_ me better, huh?"  
  
Valentine kept his voice light, and Nick didn't bristle. They weren't quite at the point where they could joke about it, but it didn't feel like poking at an open wound for either of them. The sarcasm was almost welcome.  
  
But since Valentine brought it up...  
  
"Sure," Nick said. "How about we start with who you're working for?"  
  
"Trading consortium from down south," Valentine replied.  
  
"Trading consortium," Nick repeated. "That's it?"  
  
"Well, if you're digging for something dodgy, I'll throw in that my direct employer is a gentleman going by the moniker of Highway Rob."  
  
Nick blinked slowly in response to this information.  
  
"He picked that himself, did he?" Nick asked.  
  
"Believe it or not," Valentine said with completely a straight face, "he did. It was all so he could use the slogan 'prices so low they're Highway Robbery'. It was the first in a long string of equally sound business decisions."  
  
"Like hiring _you_ ," Nick said. "Didn't you used to think that guys who left the force to work in private security were sellouts?"  
  
"Sure. Used to think PIs were nosy crooks who needed to get a real day job, too." Valentine shrugged. "The world does turn, doesn't it?"  
  
"Suppose it does."  
  
"So am I allowed to give Phil her flowers now, or do I need to wait here until they put down roots?"  
  
"Phil's in bed right now. Someone kept her up all night."  
  
"Oh. Well." Valentine slipped a hand into the pocket of his slacks and rocked on his heels, looking not even a bit sorry. "I promise I'll bring her home before curfew next time."  
  
"I'll make sure you do."  
  
Nick gestured for the flowers, and Valentine passed them over to him.  
  
"We should meet up and talk," Nick said.   
  
"About something in particular?" Valentine replied.  
  
"Sure," Nick said. "About how good Phil is at multitasking. I'll tell you all about it."  
  
"In that case, can't wait," Valentine replied, and smile spreading across his face.  
  
And just like that, the decision was made; for both of them.


	8. There's No 'I' in 'Threesome'

The flowers made Phil smile.  
  
She'd come down from a nap, still fuzzy-headed, to find them in a vase on the table. Nick had explained they were from Valentine, and then he'd kissed her and excused himself for an appointment.  
  
Only later did it occur to Phil to wonder what Valentine might have thought of finding Nick at her house, but it wasn't something she cared to dwell on. She fussed over the flowers instead, trimming and boiling the stems, and then spending some time arranging the flowers in the vase.  
  
Nick didn't return that evening, which didn't particularly alarm Phil, though it did make her wonder if he had a new client. He did not show up for breakfast the next morning, either, and when she dropped in at the agency, only Ellie was there, and she told Phil that Nick was out on an 'errand'.  
  
There was nothing inherently suspect about this situation, but after the events of the other day, the shift in their relationship still felt new and fragile. She would have wanted to look for Valentine, and thank him for the flowers, but at the same time, she wanted to know first if that kind of thing would bother Nick.  
  
The point became moot when she ran into Valentine anyway at the market. He came up behind Phil as she was browsing Myrna's wares, sliding a hand over Phil's back as he stepped up beside her. Her back tingled where he touched her.  
  
"Good morning," he said, giving her his typical self-assured smile. "Assuming it's good."  
  
"It's great," Phil said quickly. "Good morning to you too. I got your flowers. They're... they're beautiful. Did you put that bouquet together yourself?"  
  
"I didn't exactly go out and pick them from a meadow, but ah..." Valentine looked over to where Solomon was peddling his chems. "I figured it could double as a practical gift, if you weren't into flowers just for the pretty part."  
  
"Practically speaking, they're very good at cheering up my living room," Phil said. "Thank you."  
  
Myrna, looking none too pleased, took that moment to interrupt.  
  
"Are you two buying anything, or are you just standing there jamming traffic?" she sneered. "I'm losing business here."  
  
"Sorry," Phil said curtly, and took Valentine by the arm.  
  
They began ambling through the marketplace, and after a few unsure moments, Phil released his arm.  
  
"So how long are you staying in Diamond City?" she asked.  
  
"Don't worry, not long enough to make things awkward," Valentine said.  
  
"I-- didn't mean--"  
  
"I know," he said. "Nick's finally gotten his head out of his own ass, and you don't want that to get ruined."  
  
"You know about that?"  
  
"Sure. Nick and I had a talk."  
  
Phil frowned, trying to work out the timing. Was this the errand Nick had to leave on the evening before?  
  
"About me?" she asked.  
  
"About you. About us. About things in general. Speaking of which, you remember that spare key you gave to Nick?"  
  
"The... key for Home Plate?" She recalled it just fine. Nick occasionally had to house a client, and since Phil was often not using the big empty house, she figured it was better than setting someone up at the agency or the Dugout Inn.  
  
"That exact one," Valentine said. "Well, I have to admit Nick and I might have taken advantage of it a little."  
  
"How do you mean?"

Valentine didn't say, but Phil figured her question was about to be answered when she noticed he had been leading her to Home Plate.  
  
"Alright, but only as long as I don't walk in there and find a brahmin waiting for me," Phil said.  
  
"That's oddly specific," Valentine said.  
  
"Funny, those were my exact words when Sturges came up to me and asked if finding a brahmin in the house would upset me."  
  
Valentine paused with his hand on the door handle and looked at her, eyebrows raised.  
  
"Now you're making me want to go in first and check," he said.  
  
"Don't worry, I trust you and Nick a lot more than I trust livestock," she said.  
  
Valentine grinned in response and opened the door for her.  
  
Phil heard the soft music playing before she saw Nick by the record player, peering into a box of vinyls. She trailed to a stop in the middle of the room, awash in sudden nostalgia. She hadn't heard this particular song since... good grief, since she and Nate lived in the old apartment, and they spent their summer evenings smoking on the fire escape. Which of their neighbors used to play this one? She couldn't remember anymore.  
  
She swayed on her feet, until she felt Valentine's solid palm press against the small of her back supportively.  
  
"God, where did you even get a record player?" she asked, looking from Nick, to Valentine over her shoulder.  
  
"Let's say before I worked security I had a stint in acquisitions," Valentine replied, lips curling into a smile.  
  
"What, you were a trader?"  
  
"I think a scavenger would be more precise," he said. "And the record player is on loan. The records too, I assume, though I'm not responsible for that part."  
  
Phil looked at Nick. The synth shrugged.  
  
"Travis was kind enough to part with his personal collection for the evening," Nick said. "It's mostly stuff he doesn't play on the radio, anyway. He doesn't think the 2060s and 70s were notable decades in music."  
  
Phil walked up to the box of records and began flipping through it. There it was, the soundtrack to her previous life, laid out in the greatest hits of the seventeen or so years before the Great War. Here was the record her college roommate used to play over and over during finals. Here was a song Nate had always hated. Here was the first album she'd bought herself as a teenager after receiving her first paycheck, though that had been on holotape and not vinyl because she'd been a kid with disposable income, and not a snobbish middle aged audiophile.  
  
She sniffed so suddenly and loudly, that she startled herself. She hadn't even noticed how emotional she'd gotten until that very moment, and her vision blurred with tears almost instantly.  
  
"Hey, now," Nick said, and dropped the record he was holding on the table to reach for her. "Didn't mean to upset you."  
  
"I'm not upset," Phil said shakily.  
  
Nick cupped her face, and swiped a tear off her cheek with his left thumb.  
  
"Could've fooled me," he muttered.  
  
Valentine placed his hands over her shoulders, squeezing protectively. Phil felt his cheek against her hair, but he didn't say anyhting.  
  
"I'm fine. I'm great," Phil protested.  
  
"Really? So this is good crying?" Valentine asked softly.  
  
"It's I-wasn't-prepared-for-this crying," Phil replied, and hiccuped a laugh. "Play this one, please," she added, handing Nick the album she'd been holding.  
  
"This gonna perk you up, or make you cry harder?" he asked, scanning the title.  
  
"Let's try it and see," Phil said, grinning at him.  
  
Valentine's hands, meanwhile, slipped lower, and Phil leaned against him as his arms circled her waist. There was something comforting about Valentine's heat and solid presence at her back. And considering him and Nick seemed to be in some sort of cahoots at the moment, she figured Valentine wouldn't be this touchy with her if he thought it would bother Nick.

As the music started, Nick turned to look at her.  
  
Phil's momentary lapse in composure had passed, though, and she smiled at him.  
  
Nick extended a hand and Phil reflexively took it--then squealed in surprise when he tugged her out of Valentine's arms and into his own.  
  
"I didn't get the chance to dance with you yet," Nick said.  
  
"Well, you didn't need to go to these lengths if that's what you wanted, you could've just turned on the radio," Phil replied.  
  
Nick chuckled, the sound deep and reverberating in his chest. Then he pulled her into his arms, and Phil stepped into his embrace without missing a step and looped her arms around his neck. The song was slow enough that Nick simply held her close and swayed with her.  
  
He held her gaze throughout, yellow glowing optics somehow soft, and his hand traced a path up and down her back, his fingers lingering over the length of her spine. He probably meant this as a comforting gesture, after the way she'd nearly broken down crying earlier, but it only seemed to stoke a tingling heat wherever he touched. Phil did not particularly mind.  
  
It was strange, or maybe not strange at all, but Nick didn't dance much like Valentine. He was slower, more mindful of the ways in which his synth body lacked organic flexibility. Nick was smooth where Valentine was bold. She didn't mind this either, Phil thought to herself.  
  
Valentine, meanwhile, leaned against the table and began flipping through the selection of records as well. Phil could see the flick of his fingers in her peripheral vision, and once she caught him sending her a wink and a smile.  
  
Nick must've seen it to, because the very next moment, he twirled her the other way, and when she tilted forward to catch her balance again, caught her in a kiss. She smothered a giggle as she kissed him back.  
  
They went on dancing for a few more songs, and Nick's touch trailed all the way up to her head and sank into her hair, while Phil slid her hand over his chest, just so she could pull him by the tie whenever she felt like kissing him. Then the record came to an end, and Phil spun with a high laugh, turning back to Valentine.  
  
"You pick the next one," Phil told Valentine.  
  
He already had a record picked, and he presented her with it. Phil took in the colorful cover art for only a moment before slipping it out of the sleeve and putting it on.  
  
When Valentine whirled her into a wild swing, Phil was already expecting it. There was less space here than in the room of the Colonial Taphouse, and he had to be more conservative around the support beams, but Phil still laughed and shrieked trying to keep up with him. This was the kind of dancing she hadn't done since she'd been a teenager, and now here she was doing it twice in three days. She'd at least shaken off the rust, and the footwork came more naturally to her, but she could feel it somewhere in her bones that she was getting far too old for this kind of thing.  
  
She was breathing heavily and teetering on her feet by the time she finished dancing with Valentine, and she collapsed on the couch in protest.  
  
Valentine gave Nick a smug look and a raised eyebrow, as if saying _That's how you do it._  
  
Nick gave in return a sardonic smile and a very quiet snort. _Show-off._  
  
They sat down on the couch, on either side of Phil, Valentine breathing almost as heavily as her but trying to hide it, and Nick looking not at all fazed by how much Valentine was cozying up to her. But it was nice. It was good.

They were all three quiet for a few minutes. Nick had put on a new record, this one with unobtrusive instrumental jazz, and Phil felt her breathing evening out to the sound of it.  
  
Nick's fingers, the bare metal ones since he was sitting on her right, traced patterns on Phil's forearm, the tips just barely tickling her skin. Valentine, more boldly, had placed his hand over her knee, absent-mindedly tracing the outer seam of her jeans with his thumb. Phil took a moment to be amused at how much they both liked to touch.  
  
"You know, I don't think I'm built for this much fun," Phil said, with a dramatic sigh. "You boys are running me ragged."  
  
"You wanna pack it in?" Nick asked.  
  
"Oh, no. No, no, no," Phil said, and hooked one arm with Nick's and one arm with Valentine's to keep them in place. "We're not going anywhere. We're sitting right here."  
  
"Well, then, we'll try to find something less physically strenuous for you to do," Nick said, and kissed her cheek.  
  
Phil turned to him, so he could press his mouth against hers properly, and he kissed her, slow and languid. When he was done, his eyes flicked over to Valentine.  
  
"You got any suggestions of your own?" Nick asked.  
  
"I'll give it a crack," Valentine said.  
  
Phil turned her head towards him just in time for him to lean over and catch her lips in a kiss as well. She made a surprised noise in her throat before reciprocating. She felt Valentine's rough fingers along her jaw, and Nick's hand around her upper arm, holding her steady, and she felt a rush of heat suffuse her body and finally coil low in her belly.  
  
When she finally came up for air, she blinked rapidly at Valentine, feeling perhaps more surprised by the situation than she ought to.  
  
She felt Nick's lips against the shell of her ear.  
  
"Having fun?" he asked, voice deep and amused. Phil felt a shiver go through her.  
  
"I'm definitely working my way up to it," Phil replied.

Nick chuckled, and so did Valentine, in counterpoint. It was maddening, and Phil couldn't decide who she wanted first. The decision was taken out of her hand when Nick nuzzled into the crook of her neck, and she felt his mouth close onto her skin there and suck. He somehow managed to find the most sensitive spot possible, and she gasped.  
  
She arched into Valentine, whose hands glided down over her body. He grasped her legs, pulling them up into his lap and dragging her sideways on the couch to face him, and he peppered her face with kisses throughout. They were light, barely a brush of lips over her brow, her cheek, her jaw; one on her nose that made Phil giggle abortively before Nick did something with his teeth that made her moan instead.  
  
Nick held her in place as her back was braced against his chest, and Valentine, with infuriatingly slow motions, untied her boots and inched them off, letting them drop to the floor with dull thuds.  
  
Phil grabbed Valentine by his shirt collar, and dragged him into a proper kiss, heat surging between them as she took his mouth. His breath hitched--just the tiniest break in composure, but she took advantage of it--and she slid her hands to the back of his neck, holding him in place as she drank him in.  
  
She almost-- _almost_ \--didn't notice Nick's left hand plucking at the buttons of her shirt, but she most definitely did when his hand slid inside, cupping a breast through her bra. Nick was nuzzling the nape of her neck now, and where she felt his mouth, she imagined hot breath against her hair.  
  
She stopped kissing Valentine only to wiggle backwards, crawling up into Nick's lap. There was a flash of surprise across Nick's face as she turned towards him, but his expression turned pleased when she moved to kiss him. She was thorough and she took her time with Nick, as if she cared for nothing more than memorizing the feel of his lips (soft, but with less yield than human skin) and the taste of his mouth (like cigarettes and something vaguely metallic.)  
  
Nick had her halfway out of her shirt, one shoulder bare, her torso exposed, but his hands slowed, and he apparently forgot all about it as she proceeded to kiss him. She felt the cool metal of his exposed hand against her shoulder blade, and the sensation was both alien and exciting.  
  
Then she squealed in surprise and broke off the kiss, much to Nick's confusion.  
  
Phil glared at Valentine, who was smugly holding her foot, his fingers still poised against the sole of her foot after he had tickled her.  
  
"That's a good way to get kicked," Phil said.  
  
Valentine shrugged, unrepentant.  
  
"I'll try anything once," he replied.  
  
Nick chuckled. This close, Phil could almost feel it resonate in her chest, and his mirth was like honey to her soul.  
  
"Scoot over," Phil said, gesturing for Valentine to come closer.

Amused, he moved as she beckoned, and Phil kept waving him closer until he was right next to Nick, practically hip to hip. Then Phil arranged herself over both their laps, mindful of her knees and weight.  
  
She threw an arm around both their necks, and brought their heads closer together, and it was perfect. They were just _there_ , gathered close enough together that she could move from kissing one to kissing the other with only the slightest turn of the head. She started with Valentine, then back to Nick, and switched between them whenever the whim took her.  
  
Their hands were not idle, tracing over every curve and plane of her body, learning the dips of her waist, the swell of her hip, scratching blunt nails against the denim on her thighs. Phil had always liked being in the middle of grasping hands, and their hands in particular were both gentle and hungry in their touch. Phil relished the feel of Valentine's rough, uneven skin; the rubbery texture of Nick's left hand and the hesitant brush of cool metal from his right.  
  
She reveled in the sensations so much that she lost track of who she was kissing. Dimly, she thought she ought to be keeping track, if only for fairness' sake, and she pulled back fractionally to remind herself that.  
  
And then the two men, without her lips to kiss, turned and kissed each other. It took only the slightest turn of the head, and there was barely a breath's hesitation before they met each other in a careful, exploratory kiss.  
  
Phil felt her breath hitch, and when the kiss was over, both Nick and Valentine glanced at her with the same sly expression, as if they knew very well it would have an effect on her.  
  
And it did. Phil felt the throb between her thighs, and the heat under her skin. Now she wanted _more_.  
  
"Right," she said, and took off her shirt the rest of the way, wadding it up and throwing it to the side. "Undressing time."  
  
She jumped out of their laps, stumbling as she got her legs under her.  
  
Valentine eased off his vest without a word, but with a definite smirk, and threw it over the back of the couch.  
  
"You too, Nick," Phil said.  
  
Nick blinked at her bewildered.  
  
"I... don't mean to take the wind out of your sails, sweetheart, but I don't exactly come equipped for this job, if you know what I mean," Nick said.  
  
"I'm not asking you to work construction here, I just want you undressed," Phil replied, and then softer, added, "Please?"  
  
Nick opened his mouth to say something, but then apparently changed his mind and nodded. He reached up to loosen his tie.  
  
Valentine, meanwhile, had quietly kicked off his shoes, taken off his shirt and undershirt, and sat up to unbuckle his belt. His torso was just as rough as the rest of him, patches of dying and regenerating skin arranged in long, uneven strips, but he had a pleasantly stocky body, well-built and hinting at regular exercise. Stripped down like this, Phil could more easily believe that he worked, as he put it, 'security'.  
  
Phil took a moment to appreciate Valentine's figure, before he noticed her looking.  
  
"You not gonna participate, doll?" Valentine asked, looking her up and down. "I still see you mostly bundled up."  
  
"Oh... well then," Phil replied with a grin, and reached up behind her to unclasp her bra.  
  
Valentine blinked at first, and then grinned wolfishly when he saw the bra go slack. She didn't quite take it off yet, but Valentine didn't wait, either. In two steps, he was upon her, his arms enclosing around her.

Phil laughed and wriggled in Valentine's arms as he tried to hold her closer, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck. Phil thought he'd kiss her, or nip at her, or give her a hickey, but he laughed instead. It was a low, deep sound, reverberating through her so she felt it in her entire body.  
  
It made Phil turn to putty in his hands, and Valentine actually dipped her enough that Phil could crane her neck back and look at Nick over her head. She did so, and sent Nick a wink.  
  
"Don't drop her," Nick said, snaking a hand to the back of Phil's neck and pushing her upright.  
  
"Don't worry, I bounce," Phil told Valentine, just to be contrary, and then giggled.  
  
"Sorry, doll, but he's right. Wouldn't want to void your warranty," Valentine replied, and straightened her to her feet--and deftly removed her bra as he did, letting it drop to the floor.  
  
Phil hadn't even felt him taking it off, and she gasped in surprise. Valentine smirked at her, unrepentant.  
  
She shook her head and turned to Nick instead. Poor Nick, down to his pants and looking ill at ease with revealing even that much of himself. The shape of his chassis was not so much different from gen two synths, except that Nick was more battered than most other synths Phil had seen. The plates that covered him were worn ragged around the edges, yellowed by time and dotted with scratches and dents. Phil could trace at least three different bullet holes, one especially bad just above his hip, where an entire chunk of a plate was missing.  
  
Phil smoothed her hands over Nick's chest and felt the gentle thrum of his coolant pump working somewhere in his chest cavity. It was slower than a heartbeat, but it was something _like_ a heartbeat anyway.  
  
Nick looked at her, uncertain, unmoving under her palms, as if afraid any motion from him would make Phil change her mind. But she traced the edges of his damage with a delicate touch, up his torso, skimming up his neck, and finally cupping the less damaged side of his face and giving it a lingering caress.  
  
She looked into his eyes, and Nick looked into hers, and after a few seconds, some tension inside loosened. His posture relaxed.  
  
"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Phil said, and smiled at him.  
  
Nick smiled in return.  
  
Valentine, on the other hand, draped himself against Phil's back, nuzzling into her hair, smoothing hands over her abdomen.  
  
"Now that that's sorted," Valentine said, and he reached over Phil's shoulder to Nick, grasping him by the back of his neck and pulling him closer. "You getting in on this, or are you just gonna spectate for the rest of the day?"  
  
Nick _smirked_ just then, his expression a match for Valentine, and that was all the warning Phil got before he stepped up to her and she found herself pressed between their bodies. Nick kissed her fiercely, and Valentine lowered his mouth to her shoulder, latched on to suck on a sensitive patch of skin just at the juncture between her shoulder and neck.  
  
Phil was back in the center of their attention, and she could admit to herself that she reveled in it. So did Nick and Valentine, for that matter, as they both seemed to have their own plan for what they were going to do to her.  
  
Valentine's hands roamed over every inch of exposed skin they could find, lingered over her breasts, kneading them, teasing her nipples into peaks. Nick had grasped her hips, holding tightly, and somehow he had gotten a leg in between hers. He rolled his thigh up against the juncture of her legs, and the pressure was just right against the perfect spot that Phil felt a moment of perfect bliss. It stopped too soon, leaving her wanting, but it also made a delicious warmth suffuse her body.  
  
Valentine's clever hands traveled down across her abdomen again, tracing the edges of her stretch marks, and then continued to the button of her jeans. He popped it open and unzipped her without ceremony, and then Phil felt his fingers dip inside and find the slickest part of her.  
  
She gasped, bucked her hips involuntarily, but Nick was still holding them, and she wasn't trying to move away at any rate. She wanted to rub herself against Valentine's fingers; they were coarse, somehow, not quite like calluses, but the texture just uneven enough to feel strange and new and exciting.  
  
Valentine worked her with perfectly even, unhurried motions, no matter how much she squirmed, and Nick stood there and watched, looking by all accounts very entertained by Phil's impatience. He still held onto her hips, but he was focused on her face.  
  
Phil didn't wonder, couldn't really care about anything beyond Valentine's ministrations, but she grasped onto Nick's shoulders to steady herself and keep upright, and Nick planted small kisses to her lips as she did. She responded distractedly, and finally she leaned her forehead against his, eyes screwed shut as she panted harshly.  
  
She could feel herself almost cresting, almost getting enough, but Valentine did not change his rhythm and he gave her no purchase. He held her in this strange limbo of pleasure for just long enough that the frustration alone was going to make Phil come. And only then did he increase his speed, matching to the desperate twitches of her hips.  
  
Phil almost shouted, definitely moaned, and then bit back the next embarrassingly loud noise she was about to make. Valentine brought his lips to her ear, then, and huskily, he spoke,  
  
"Sing for me, doll."  
  
And then Phil mewled and squirmed, and damn near almost _sobbed_ , and he gave her just what she wanted. She came to a shuddering, intense orgasm, and Valentine stroked her throughout it, until there was not an ounce of pleasure left.  
  
When he removed his hand from her pants, he seemed almost sheepish about it.  
  
"You've got a bed around here somewhere, I assume," Valentine said.  
  
"Mm," Phil mouthed as she remained slumped against Nick, just getting her bearings again. "Too far. Too small. Also up a flight of stairs and my knees don't feel up to it at the moment."  
  
The couch would do fine, anyway, Phil thought, and pushed at Nick's chest. Amused, he obeyed and walked backwards until the backs of his knees were right up against the edge of the couch.  
  
"Sit," Phil said.  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Nick replied.  
  
Phil discarded her jeans and underwear, and turned towards Valentine. There was no mistaking the bulge in his pants, but he was not taking anything off yet. Instead, while giving Phil an appreciative look up and down, he brought his still-slick fingers to his lips and licked, all while looking very smug.  
  
"Yes, yes, you're very talented," Phil said, though she couldn't quite roll her eyes at him. He'd definitely earned that smugness.  
  
"Doll, you haven't seen talent yet," Valentine replied and strode over while unbuttoning his pants.  
  
Phil did not get to see him pull anything out, however, because he was back behind her and turning her to face Nick again. Nick and Phil looked at each other, neither knowing what Valentine had in mind.  
  
"Why don't you step closer to Nick?" Valentine suggested kindly. "But no sudden movements, you might spook him."  
  
"Had two hundred years to work on that sense of humor, did you?" Nick drawled in response.

But Phil was not at all opposed to getting closer. She lifted a leg and placed a knee on the couch, between Nick's thighs. Nick raised an eyebrow at this, but then leaned back as Phil leaned forward, until she was practically above him, arms braced against the backrest of the couch. She grinned down at him as he pointedly looked in her eyes and not at her breasts, now hanging exactly at face level. She wouldn't have minded a _bit_ of ogling, but trust Nick to act the gentleman at the strangest of times.  
  
"That's perfect," Valentine purred, running a hand down Phil's back. "Beautiful." His hand came down to cup the swell of her hip. His voice was a pleased rumble, and it made Phil shiver in anticipation.  
  
She felt his fingers dip into her, though it was just a fleeting touch, testing how wet she was. The answer was still _very_ , and even more so when she felt him easing his length along her folds, slicking it with her fluids. She wasn't quite worked up all the way, but she was getting there with each slow rub.  
  
Finally, after an interminable few seconds, Valentine angled up and sank into her. He went slowly, though he encountered only soft, yielding flesh, and Phil felt every inch of him on the way in. When he finished burying himself up to the hilt, Phil felt him grunt and huff against her shoulder, very much like a man trying not to come right then and there.  
  
"Feels alright?" he asked Phil, almost slurring his words.  
  
"God, yes," Phil replied.  
  
Nick took Phil's arms and placed them on his shoulders, wordlessly offering support, and she beamed at him in response. She felt warm despite slight chill against her bare skin, and dizzy from a strange concoction of happiness and arousal. She kissed Nick, just because she could. Just because she wanted to.  
  
Valentine began moving, gave a few shallow thrusts at first, before settling into a long, easy glide. Phil sighed in satisfaction, feeling the slow build again.  
  
Nick kissed along her jaw, down her neck, he nibbled at her collarbone for a bit, and then she felt him mouth at her breasts lightly. She placed a hand at the back of his neck to encourage him, _yes, there, keep doing that_ , but he apparently didn't need it as much because she felt his hand move up between her legs and find her clit. Her back arched at the unexpected spike of pleasure, and Nick swiped his tongue over a nipple as she did, and took it into his mouth.  
  
It was strange, because it did not feel exactly like human skin. Nick's fingers were something rubbery, old and worn and stiffened by time, and his mouth was not as humid as a human mouth. The temperature was wrong too, he was cooler than a human counterpart, and a sharp contrast to Valentine, who ran hotter than the average human. But it was a pleasing medley of sensations to Phil, not quite right in the best way, and stoking her want with every touch.  
  
She felt another building orgasm curl in her belly, and Valentine quickened his pace just a little. She pushed her hips back, meeting his every thrust, and gasped softly as each time the need became sharper and more immediate.  
  
She could hear Valentine's panting and soft grunts, she could feel how the grip he had on her hip tightened, and she knew he was close as well.

It almost surprised her when her orgasm tumbled over her, hitting her like an unexpected wave and dragging her with it. She heard herself whimper, and she felt Nick hold her as her legs quivered and almost went out, and she let him as she allowed herself to experience every second of it.  
  
Valentine's thrusts grew uneven, hurried over the last dwindling wave of her pleasure, but he let out a long groan kept thrusting as he spent himself inside her. He came to an uneven stop, panting heavily against Phil's shoulder. Then he slipped out of her, and Phil collapsed into Nick's lap fully. Nick caught her into his arms, holding her like something precious.  
  
There was a moment of silence, punctuated only by Phil and Valentine's breathing, before Nick broke it.  
  
"You alright, sweetheart?" Nick asked.  
  
"I'm more than alright," Phil said, kissing his cheek.  
  
Nick nodded, then looked at Valentine.  
  
"What about you, old man? Still alive back there?" Nick continued.  
  
Valentine actually laughed at that, sounding almost surprised at his own reaction.  
  
"Just for that, I oughta chase you off my lawn," Valentine replied.  
  
Phil chuckled at their banter. She hadn't actually expected them to be friends, but they certainly sounded like it at the moment, and it pleased her.  
  
"Don't worry," Phil said, turning towards Valentine and running a hand over his forearm, "I'm sure we can find some way to make it up to you."  
  
Valentine looked intrigued.  
  
"Not that I'd be opposed, darling, but you up for another round already?" he asked.  
  
"In a bit," she said. Especially if Valentine stayed naked, because now she was getting a better look at him and she found he made for a very nice overall image. "Maybe we'll find that bed I've got lying around somewhere."  
  
"Maybe," Valentine chuckled. Then he looked at Nick.  
  
Nick was gently tracing the outline of Phil's collarbone with his metal fingers, too busy looking enamored at the moment to pay attention to the rest of the conversation. Phil noticed it too, and she and Valentine shared a look; they couldn't help being endeared by the sight.  
  
They did find the bed, eventually, and Phil spent some time showing Valentine how very sorry both she and Nick were for that crack about his age. Nick turned out to be _very good_ with his mouth.  
  
The rest of the day continued in much the same vein.


	9. Here's Looking At You, General

Phil realized she was humming as she waited next to the hot plate for the coffee pot to heat up. She couldn't remember the name of the song, but she also began drumming her fingers against the counter top with the melody.  
  
She felt the steps behind her, and her hair being brushed back, but she didn't know who it was until he kissed her neck; Valentine, and she felt the way his lips were curled into a smile against her skin.  
  
He was still slightly damp from his bath, but he was already dressed as he sat down in a chair at the kitchen table.  
  
"After that kind of vigorous activity, I think you should be having more than a liquid breakfast," Valentine said.  
  
Phil smiled languidly at him. She was bone-tired in the best way, so much so that she could swear she felt relaxed down to the roots of her hair.   
  
"Would you be staying for a solid breakfast?" she asked.  
  
"Oh, it's not that I wouldn't love to, doll," Valentine said, with an apologetic shrug, "but I already penciled in one day off work, and if I stick around too long, I'm afraid I'll end up having to pencil in two."  
  
Phil laughed, and filled two mugs with coffee. She passed one to Valentine and kept one to herself, leaning against the counter as she drank.  
  
It was not great coffee. Possibly there was not even any _pretty good_ coffee left after two hundred years. But it was passable, and Valentine made a pleased sound after taking a sip.  
  
Phil wondered if there was anybody who was going to notice that Valentine and Nick walked into her home on one morning and did not leave again until the next, but then, if anyone did, she was sure she'd hear it from Travis on the radio soon enough.  
  
Nick walked into the kitchen area while tying his tie, and though he was focused on this task, he wandered over to Phil and gave her a kiss on the cheek.  
  
"You boys heading out?" she asked, swishing her coffee in her cup.  
  
"I should check in with Ellie," Nick said, "I might have a new client."  
  
"I need to wrap up some loose ends before I leave," Valentine replied.  
  
Phil's mug stilled, and both she and Nick looked at him.  
  
"Oh, you're... leaving Diamond City soon?" she asked.  
  
"Soon enough," Valentine admitted. "The job tends to keep me coming and going a lot."  
  
"Oh." Phil tried not to sound too disappointment.  
  
"Like I said," Valentine continued, climbing to his feet and striding over to Phil, "coming and going." He looped his arms around her waist and pecked her on the lips. "Especially in places where the boss has business interests."  
  
"And does he have business interests in the Commonwealth?" Phil asked.  
  
"He will," Valentine replied. "With the Institute gone and this new General of the Minutemen keeping everyone else in line, well..." He grinned at her.  
  
Phil laughed.  
  
"I see," she said. "Well, if you're ever in the neighborhood, try stopping at the Castle. Maybe the _General_ will have something for you."   
  
Valentine looked well pleased with this idea, and leaned over to kiss Phil properly. Then he stepped back, and turned to Nick, extending his hand. Nick took it.  
  
"And if you're ever in Diamond City, stop by the agency," Nick said. "Maybe we'll see if you've still got those investigator chops."  
  
Valentine laughed, and then pulled Nick into a kiss as well, every bit as long and thorough as his kiss with Phil had been. By the end of it, Nick looked just a bit dazed.  
  
"You'll be seeing more of me," Valentine promised, setting his hat on his head and adjusting the angle just right to match the slant of his smirk. "That's a promise."  
  
After that, Valentine left, and in a bit, so did Nick.  
  
Phil was left alone in her kitchen, her coffee still hot and still on the passable side. She hummed to herself and thought about heading for a trip to the market, and she couldn't quite wipe the smile from the face as she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end! Thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments. You're all great.


End file.
